


Things Could Be Worse

by Maimat



Series: Hunting and Gathering [7]
Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 06:24:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/707550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maimat/pseuds/Maimat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone was just as edible as everyone else so far as the walkers were concerned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things Could Be Worse

Time moves on, and given enough time, a person can adapt to just about anything. Daryl stayed sitting by the fire long after everyone else went to sleep. He didn't even know why he stayed, but he did. He never thought he'd get comfortable around these people and their problems, but he was adapting. He tried not to think about what their lives may have been like before everything changed. He tried not to compare himself to them, and how people like them used to look at him like he was less than nothing. And now what? Was it really any different? Those days were gone. There were no more gated communities and low income housing projects to keep people sorted with their own kind. There was no more rent to worry about, or groceries, or cops coming by to ask him about what his brother was up to. No more paydays when Merle would turn up on his couch drunk or worse and he'd have to hide his cash or it would be gone (and Merle with it) before breakfast.

Everyone was just as edible as everyone else so far as the walkers were concerned.

He didn't miss much from that old life. He listened to the others playing the what I miss most game, talking about things like their computers, iphones, and hot tubs. Those were all things he knew nothing about. But there were some things he missed. He missed sitting on the front step and having a beer without needing to worry about some dead thing strolling up and trying to take a bite out of his ass. He missed not having to lug the damn cross bow with him where ever he went. So far as the others were concerned he bet they didn't think his life had changed much at all. He wondered if anyone realized the only hunting he'd done in the last few years consisted of poaching on his days off.

Carol crawled out of her tent and came over to sit in a lawn chair, picking up a stick to poke at the dying embers of the fire.

"Can't sleep?" She asked.

He shrugged. The answer was kind of obvious, after all.

She seemed to deflate a little, shoulders hunching and eye cast downward.

He wasn't sure what he did, but it never took much to set these people off. All of them were just way too sensitive. Not that it was his problem.

"Did you ever used to go camping?" He asked spontaneously. At first it looked like she wasn't going to answer and he figured that was just as well. He didn't really feel like making conversation anyway and it wasn't like he cared.

"With my parents. We used to go to the lake for a week every summer."

Responding wasn't something he'd considered before asking the question and that kind of left him wondering what he should say next, but fortunately Carol stepped in and continued her story before the silence got awkward.

"The lake was full of leeches, and there were more rocks than sand on the beach. But, just spending that time together as a family was nice." She looked up at him and smiled briefly. Daryl looked into her eyes for just a second before looking away. "Ed hated camping." She added. "How about you? Did you go camping as a kid?"

"With Merle a couple times. Mostly on my own. Never in, like, a campground or nothing." He didn't think relating how he and his brother went to the park to steal stuff while people were away from their tents and RV's would count as a camping story.

A twig snapped in the darkness of the forest around them and Daryl was instantly alert and readying his cross bow. There wasn't much to see, just trees and more trees and the darkness all around them, and so he focused on listening instead. No one could ever accuse a walker of being stealthy.

"Just an animal. Daryl whispered to set Carol at ease. She sat so still he started to wonder if she was holding her breath.

She nodded stiffly.

There were no more noises from the woods. It was probably an animal. Walkers weren't stealthy, but he knew some people who were. He gave it another minute and relaxed a bit, but not relaxed enough to put down his crossbow. He thought again about what that kid Randall had told him about what he and his buddies had done to those girls they came across. He knew Carol was disappointed in him and how he'd beat on the kid. She hadn't seen the lie in those eyes telling Daryl that if Randall hadn't been involved in raping those girls, he sure as hell would have liked to have been.

Maybe he was being paranoid, but he'd been thinking about it ever since. Thirty heavily armed men. He knew Merle had been hoping to find a group like that rather than this small bunch of weekend campers. Evidently, things would be better for Merle if they had.

What if? He knew Merle was an ass-hole and he'd been called a lot of things in his life, but rapist was never one of them. That didn't mean his brother respected women any more than he respected anyone else, but even Merle had lines he didn't cross. Unfortunately he also knew his brother well enough to know that even though his brother wouldn't have participated, he wouldn't have cared enough to stop it. To be fair, Daryl asked himself that question as well, what would he have done in Randall's place?

He knew the answer to that one as well. Nothing. He sure as hell wouldn't have sat around and watched, but he knew better than to speak out of turn. That was lesson taught to him the hard way, and one he wasn't likely to forget.

They'd been lucky so far that the meanest group they'd come across were those crazy Vastos in Atlanta, and those were just a bunch of nurses and janitors looking after old people. They were bound to come across other groups of survivors eventually. Daryl just hoped they were ready for it when they did.

"Was it Merle who taught you to hunt? Carol asked.

"What? No. Merle wasn't much for nature. He was one hell of a sniper in the military; not so good at following orders though." It only occurred to him afterwards he'd used the past tense. "Even one handed, I bet the bastard can shoot the head off a pin if he wants."

She looked away again, uncomfortable just like everyone else was whenever he mentioned Merle.

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?" Daryl asked her.

"No. I'm sorry, I can't imagine what it must be like-"

"Don't give me that shit. You lost your daughter and your husband. Merle ain't neither of those to me, and I know he can take damn good care of his self on top of that. So don't you even think of being sorry for me."

"I'm sorry."

"You see, and there you go again. Always having to be sorry for everything."

He could tell she wasn't sure how to take that, and was relieved when she settled on a grin.

"Aren't you ever sorry about anything you say or do?"

Daryl grinned. "Never." He lied. "What use is there worrying about whats already done and gone?"

She stood up and stretched. "I'm headed back to bed. How about you?"

"Later." He watched her climb back into her tent and went back to staring at the fire. As much as these people were a major pain in the ass most of the time, and he knew if they ever came up against something really threatening the odds weren't in their favour of winning, he was still thankful he lucked into joining with them.

Things could be worse.


End file.
